


speak now or forever hold your-

by budapestagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Getting Together, Johns Wedding, Love Confessions, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, lestrade has a crush on mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-10 07:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11687172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/budapestagain/pseuds/budapestagain
Summary: "The vicar opened his mouth – surely it had been more than a few seconds. Sherlock needed more time to think. He needed more time. He—“I object!” Sherlock announced and he saw Mrs Hudson smile."Sherlock knows that the middle of John's wedding is not the best time to announce that he's madly in love with him but...the vicar did ask if anyone had any objections and Sherlock definitely does.





	1. objections

It was John’s wedding day and Sherlock was…he wasn’t anything, really.

  His emotions conflicted with one another so much that he couldn’t really decide on one to feel. He knew that he should happy and proud. And he did – happy that John had found someone and proud that John had taken this big step, despite worries and doubts confessed to Sherlock in late night phone calls. But he also felt deeply upset that John had found someone who wasn’t him and his pride in John didn’t reach Mary, the other half of the happy, happy couple.

  He knew what Mycroft would say about this _sentiment_ and he didn’t want to hear it so he avoided his older brother in the week before the wedding. Mycroft knew he was avoiding him and knew that he couldn’t force Sherlock to talk about how he felt, especially when he didn’t want to, so he just upped the surveillance around Sherlock’s regular drug spots.

 

Sherlock watched John from across the table. He was wearing a sweater over his pyjamas, bare feet tapping on the table leg, spooning cereal hungrily into his mouth. He was trying to deduce how John felt – happy? nervous? nostalgic for the days where things were much simpler between them? – when John looked up and caught his eye.

  “You’ve been staring for the last five minutes, Sherlock. What’s wrong?” He asked.

 

  Sherlock shook his head. “Nothing,” he said too quickly and John frowned. “I’m fine.”

 

  “Fine?” John pushed his bowl to the side and reached across the table to rest a hand on Sherlock’s. “Remember what we said about _fine_ , Sherlock? Whenever you say that you’re fine, it means that you’re not.”

 

  “Then I’m good. Great, in fact.” Sherlock tore his hand away and stood up, looking around the room. He headed to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne. “I bought this. Thought you’d want some for breakfast to celebrate.”

 

  “We should wait until Greg gets here.” John smiled, though. “Thanks, Sherlock, for everything. You’ve been so good with planning this wedding and the bachelor party was certainly…eventful.” He chuckled, maybe remembering Sherlock getting drunk and picking fights and clueing for looks and 20 Questions and the accidental gay bar they’d wandered into that maybe wasn’t so accidental because John had seemed to like it there, flirting aimlessly with the bartender. “You really are my best friend. You – no one else.”

 

  “You’re my best friend, too,” Sherlock said although the words soured in his mouth. “Excuse me,” he added, “I have some last minute wedding details I forgot about.”

 

  He went to his bedroom and sat on his bed, making sure to shut the door. He needed to talk to someone. He’d never wanted to talk to people about his feelings before, except John, so he wasn’t quite sure who to turn to but he needed _someone_.

  Sherlock knew that he had friends who would listen and support him but none of them would give him the answers he needed. He didn’t even know the questions he needed to ask to get the answers he wanted. He ran through the list of people in his head who would give him good advice.

  _Mycroft. Lestrade. Molly. Mrs Hudson. Mummy._

  None of them seemed right. Mycroft would be comforting but, still, smug. Lestrade would tell him to ‘just go for it, mate’ without understanding the consequence of Sherlock disrupting John’s happy engagement and soon-to-be marriage, especially as John didn’t even seem to show any sexual preference other than women. Molly would be a viable option but he didn’t want to put her through that, given her crush. Mrs Hudson was with Mary and Sherlock doubted that he could trust her discretion in the matter. And Mummy…

  He found himself dialling his mother automatically as he thought of her.

 

  She picked up on the second ring.

  “Sherlock? Are you alright, dear?”  Sherlock opened his mouth to reply – _I’m fine_ – but before he could stop it, a sob erupted from his throat. “Oh no.” He heard her close a door. “Your father’s in the other room; you can tell me what’s wrong, if you don’t want him to hear. Wait, isn’t John getting married today? I— _oh_. Mycroft told me about your…attachment…to him but we weren’t sure if…well, Myc can sometimes view friendship as romance. You know what he’s like. Oh dear, I’m blathering on. Tell me what’s wrong.”

 

“I love him, Mummy,” Sherlock whispered into the phone, wiping away his tears. He could hear John humming from the kitchen, the familiar crashes and swearing as he washed up the dishes.

 

  “John?”

 

  “Who else?” Sherlock’s eyes settled on the framed photo by his bed. The photo had been taken before John had met Mary, before Sherlock had died for him. They were at a Scotland Yard company retreat – Lestrade had dragged them along so that Sherlock could scare away people who Lestrade didn’t want to talk about. They were stood in front of a river, beside an ancient oak tree, John’s arm was around Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock had discarded his coat, and because of the hot weather, he was wearing just tailored trousers and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up. John was wearing a loosely unbuttoned blue shirt and knee-length shorts. They looked…happy. Smiling at the camera, hair ruffled by the slight breeze.

 

  “Darling, I have met that boy and I have seen how he acts around you, how he looks at you and talks about you. The way he says your name…Sherlock, John Watson loves you. Desperately, undeniably. Your father knows it, too.” There was a sound of a door opening, hinges creaking, and Sherlock heard his beloved father say _is that Sherlock_? and he could just see his mother nodding, making a face of pity as she put Sherlock on speakerphone. “Tell your father what’s wrong.”

 

  “John’s getting married,” Sherlock said then paused. “And I’m in love with him.”

 

  “Ah.” There was a pause, a ruffling of newspaper, the TV volume was turned down. Sherlock waited patiently. “Remember when you were thirteen years old and that boy broke your heart? What was he called? Victor? Remember how you were so afraid because you thought we’d be mad that you liked boys, even though we’d known that for _years_? And remember how I told you that I didn’t care who you liked as they treated you right and loved you?”

 

  “I remember.”

  Sherlock also remembered Victor’s sad face as he broke up with him, weighed down by the pressure of his horrible friends. Sherlock also remembered his mother yelling at the headmaster who suggested a ‘sort of therapy, to change him back to normal’, who had brought her in to tell her about Sherlock and Victor’s very physical fight. But Sherlock remembered his father’s comforting words and reassuring smile. He remembered Mycroft taking him to a science museum the next day and letting him run around and ask questions and at the end of the day, Mycroft bought him ice-cream.

 

  “I also told you that one day you’d find someone like that. That the universe would bring someone to you, and it wouldn’t stop showing you that they were the _one_. John’s a decent chap,” he concluded simply. “I think you’d make each other very happy.”

 

  “But he’s marrying Mary.” Sherlock heard the shower start and sighed. He should get dressed. His suit had been hung up in the wardrobe for days and every time he looked at it, it was like someone who had shot him. “I should go,” he said.

 

  “Remember that he loves you,” his mother said quickly and Sherlock hung up. He hid his phone under his pillow, ignoring the way it beeped with a message from his mother, and turned to his suit. He couldn’t delay the inevitable. He’d been trying over the past few weeks but it was finally here. Only a few more hours until he lost John.

 

 

 

The rest of the morning went by shockingly fast and Sherlock barely had enough time to process the fact the wedding was happening soon when the car arrived at the church. A few people were already milling outside, mostly close friends who’d wanted to wish John luck before the wedding. Lestrade waved at them as they approached the church doors. He was leaning against the door, tie loosened around his neck. Sherlock noticed the tie as one Mycroft had, too, and the thought of his brother made his chest ache. For the first time since he was young, he actually _wanted_ to talk to his big brother. Mycroft wouldn’t pester him with outrageous lies about how John was in love with him, too.

  Because that’s all they could be.

  Lies.

 

  “You got cold feet, yet?” Lestrade asked with a smile.

 

  John laughed. “Not yet,” he said but Sherlock sensed that something was off about his best friend. “Sherlock here has been keeping me grounded.”

 

  An odd look passed across Lestrade’s face. “That’s normally the wife’s job,” he said, obviously joking but a hint of something lay on the edges of his voice. John gave him a look and Lestrade’s smile came back. “We should go inside. Mary will be arriving soon.”

 

  They walked into the church and as the other two men went to talk to the vicar, Sherlock looked around, checking that the flowers were right and the lighting would be okay for pictures. John had decided against getting the wedding filmed, as had Mary who was reluctant enough with the photographer. Sherlock just wanted to get photos of John. John smiling, John laughing, John crying as they exchanged vows.

  They meaning Mary and John, not…

 

  Sherlock heard more cars pull up and guests started flooding the church. He found himself wandering back towards John, who was watching him curiously. “Are you okay?” He asked.

 

  “I should be asking you that,” Sherlock replied, avoiding the question. “It’s _your_ wedding day.”

 

  “Yeah, it is.”

 

  They stood in comfortable silence until the organ started and everyone turned to stare at the beautiful bride. Because she was beautiful but still not the same beautiful as John was. As John looked at Mary, Sherlock looked at him. The suit was cut well on him; his hair was artfully groomed and only Sherlock could see the single strand of grey on the back of his neck; his hands were by his side, with military stillness – the only sign that he was worried. Mary turned to her bridesmaid to hand her the bouquet of flowers and John turned to Sherlock to smile at him, comfortingly. Sherlock nodded back, trying to send a message with his eyes: _I love you and I always will and I will support both you and Mary no matter what and oh how mother was mistaken because look at the love in your eyes for her_.

 

  The ceremony went forward.

  Sherlock didn’t pay attention to the words. He stood there, staring at the back of John’s head so violently that he expected to see two holes burned by his gaze. He expected that the guests sat in the pews could see his intense concentration but he didn’t bother to calm himself down. This…after the wedding reception tonight, Sherlock had planned to spend a little time away. His parents owned a cottage in Scotland, by the sea, and it sounded just perfect for Sherlock to get away from things. He wouldn’t see John for a little while but it’d be okay. John would barely notice that he was gone. Three months, six…Sherlock hadn’t exactly worked out how long he’d been staying there, yet, but he was sure that it would be until he could accept that John Watson was married to the love of his life.

 

 

 

“If anyone has any objection to this wedding, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the vicar said. The whole church seemed to wait with bated breath. Sherlock glanced around, wondering if anyone would object, and saw Mycroft sat on the back pew. He wasn’t looking at the bride and groom; he was looking directly at Sherlock. Why? Sherlock thought of asking it out loud then remembered why it was so silent. Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

 

  Sherlock glanced at John, quickly, then back at Mycroft. He made himself think fast because the vicar looked like he’d waited long enough for any protestations. Mycroft thought he should tell John, now, in the middle of his wedding. And…Sherlock saw Lestrade, who was looking at him, too, and looking at John, eyes flickering back and forth. He thought something was going to happen. Mrs Hudson wasn’t crying – why wasn’t she crying? She cried at everything emotional, unless she found something unemotional about the wedding ceremony, unless she wasn’t invested in John and Mary. Why wouldn’t she be? She always seemed to know when a relationship would last. She’d always predicted that none of John’s girlfriends would last, could even give time limits to the relationships. She was almost always correct. But she’d thought that John and Sherlock were together, multiple times, had even commented that they’d make a good couple to Sherlock when John wasn’t around. Sherlock had shrugged her off, the words too painful but… _but_ ….Sherlock ran through the years with John in his head.

  Saving each other. Dying for each other. Quick hugs and slow hugs. Smiles and laughter versus tears and punches. Sharing a home, a job, a life. To have and to hold. For as long as they both shall live.

 

  The vicar opened his mouth – surely it had been more than a few seconds. Sherlock needed more time to think. He needed more time. He—

 

  “I object!” Sherlock announced and he saw Mrs Hudson smile.


	2. Chapter 2

The first person to speak was Mary, eyes wide with shock. “I don’t understand. Why…why would you…?” She already knew why. He could see the realisation in her eyes and then she closed herself off, eyes hard.

 

  Sherlock shut himself off, too. He couldn’t be emotional about this, or he’d screw it all up. He needed to tell John the cold, logical facts to explain himself, to reason with him. “I am sorry, Mary, truly, but I’ve seen all the signs that this marriage would fail.”

 

  “You should leave us to figure out that between ourselves, Sherlock,” Mary hissed. “You’re not part of this marriage.”

 

  “He’s not in love with you.”

 

  “And he’s what? In love with you?”

 

  “Mary!” John snapped. He looked annoyed but Sherlock couldn’t figure out if the irritation was directed towards Sherlock or Mary. “Maybe we should do this somewhere more private.”

 

  “Do what?” Mary shook her head. “You seriously want to talk about this during our wedding? Christ, John, what’s wrong with you? It’s a simple yes or no. Do you want to marry me?”

 

  “It’s not that simple, Mary.” John looked at Sherlock and blinked slowly. “You’re my best friend. I trust you and I will always value your opinion. So, please, tell me why I shouldn’t marry her.”

 

  Sherlock had a thousand reasons but he knew that John would be blind to any excuses about his lack of compatibility with Mary or the lack of an exciting life that he hated or the fact that John would never be happy in a suburban house with a wife and kids and a normal job. He would deny all of it. There was only one thing that John wouldn’t be able to deny – that had been waiting patiently between them since they first met.

  Sherlock’s confession.

 

  “Don’t marry her,” Sherlock said. “Because I’m in love with you.” John stared at him and Sherlock rushed to finish his speech before he could be interrupted. “I know that you have every right to kick me out and never talk to me again but I needed you to know that I love you. And I am so sorry for all the hurt that I’ve caused you, now and previously. I did it – everything I did – was to keep you safe because I couldn’t – can’t – live in a world without you in it.”

 

  John stared for a bit longer then shook his head. “ _Christ_ , Sherlock.”

  Sherlock looked away, scanning the rapt audience. Mrs Hudson was crying, Molly frantically passing her tissues. Lestrade was grinning. Mycroft was gone, his work done. Then he looked back at John and saw the look on his face.

 

  “I-I should go,” Sherlock stammered.

  “You waited until my wedding to tell me this?”

 

  “I wish I’d told you years ago but I was always so afraid that you’d hate me for it. And, now, if you hate me, I can be content knowing that you’ll be married to someone else and you’ll be safer without me.”

 

  Mary looked weary. “John, you need to make a decision.”

 

  “Right now?”

 

  “ _Yes_ , right now.” Mary sighed. “Do you want to marry me?”

 

 

 

 

It was so different from when John had proposed. Or maybe it wasn’t because he’d never actually proposed. He’d seen Sherlock and all thoughts of marrying Mary had flown out of his head. He remembered the way his heart had stopped for a second and then he’d been so mad, so angry, that Sherlock had lied to him…

  He’d barely thought about anything else for at least two days after he’d come back. Then Mary was talking about weddings and she’d slipped the ring onto her finger and John had gone along with it because, well, he’d meant to propose and he kind of had. He’d not thought about if his feelings had changed now Sherlock was back. Why would they have changed? Sherlock had nothing to do with John’s love life. Or so he told himself.

 

Now look where they were.

  Both Mary and Sherlock were looking at him. Mary looked annoyed but tired. Sherlock just looked sad. If John had to envision his future with either one of them…he didn’t know which future he would be happier in. If he married Mary, they’d buy a new house together or maybe keep hers and then they’d have kids and he’d make friends with other parents and he’d be stuck in a rut of monthly date nights and school projects and watching TV instead of having sex.

  Hadn’t he done all of that with Sherlock, though?

  Eating dinner after solving a case, celebrating with champagne. Making a model of the solar system when they were both bored and John had time off work over Christmas. Watching trashy TV shows in the afternoon when John was unemployed and they didn’t have a case. It had been pure bliss before Sherlock had jumped off that bloody building.

 

  “John?” Mary said, her voice cutting into his thoughts like a knife.

  Sherlock was staying silent, still and tense as he stood there. John took the time – since he wanted to delay his answer as much as possible – to examine him. He’d already subtly checked for signs of drug abuse this morning but there were no marks on Sherlock’s wrists, no revealing purple or red pin-pricks. Now he looked at Sherlock for something other than an estimation of his mental state. He looked for the beautiful eyes and the perfect pale skin and the wild curls amassed around his head and the way he was looking back at John.

  John had to take a second to catch his breath.

 

  “I’m sorry,” he said and Sherlock seemed to wilt. John realised that it looked like he was saying it to him and hastily turned to face Mary. “Mary, I’m sorry,” he repeated and he heard the collective gasp of the guests. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs Hudson weeping, her obnoxiously large hat blocking everyone else’s view of the proceedings. He couldn’t help but smile at her and in response, she lifted her handkerchief. “I—I wish that I could marry you but it wouldn’t be fair to you, or to me, or to Sherlock.”

 

  “It’s always been about him.” Mary offered him a chilled smile but John could see the hurt underneath. “I only want what’s best for you.”

  He doubted that. In fact, if Mary had left him at the altar, he’d be about ready to strangle her. He wouldn’t blame her if she beat him up but she wasn’t the kind of person to do that. She was the kind of person who stood there in her wedding dress and didn’t argue when her almost-husband announced that he needed to call off the wedding because his best friend was in love with him.

 

  “I really don’t deserve you,” John said, reaching out to touch her hand.

 

  She nodded but stepped back out of his reach. Then she looked at Sherlock. “Take care of him?” She asked.

 

  “Of course.”

 

  Mary summoned her bridesmaids and they all walked back down the aisle and out of the church, the entire congregation watching them as they went. Then all the heads turned to John. “Uh,” he said and Lestrade came to rescue him, Mrs Hudson by his side. They explained the situation and assured all guests that they could still attend the meal afterwards, just without the bride and groom or bridesmaid or best man. Meanwhile, John had found a door to the side and escaped while he still had the chance. He stood in the hallway and breathed out in relief. Now that the wedding was cancelled, he couldn’t help but feel the knot of anxiety that had been lingering in his stomach fade away.

 

  The door opened then closed and Sherlock leant against the wall across from him.

  “You look stressed,” Sherlock said.

 

  “I am bloody stressed.” John chuckled. “I just left my bride at the altar.”

 

  “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

  “No, no, you were just saving us the pain of a messy divorce later.”

 

  “Is that…do you think that’s all I was doing?”

 

  John felt like it was a trick question. “What were you doing then, Sherlock?”

 

  Sherlock’s eyes widened. “You really think that everything I said in there…was to save you from having to marry Mary? That I didn’t mean any of it?”

 

  “I don’t understand.” John stared at him, desperately. He understood a few things: he’d just broken up with his one chance at a semi-normal life; he didn’t care; and Sherlock was in love with him.

 

  “You don’t…” Sherlock laughed humourlessly. “Of course you don’t understand. Neither do I, really.”

 

  “Wait. What?” John couldn’t help but feel like he’d missed a step somewhere. Had Sherlock said something that he’d not heard? He tried to think but he couldn’t quite…He suddenly realised that he’d never  actually told Sherlock the real reason he’d called off the wedding. The way he felt breathless whenever he saw the detective. The way he’d spent his whole life looking for someone like him. He’d grown up in a tired, tired home where no-one yelled but the silence was almost as worse, and then he’d travelled overseas, fought through dusty deserts and towns filled with terrified civilians, and back to London, through dark streets and graveyards with his best friend’s name on the newest grave and yet…he’d found Sherlock. And Sherlock was in love with him. “Hey, Sherlock, I need to—”

 

  John looked up and was met with an empty room. The door was swinging on its hinges, like someone had left through it in a hurry. John went through it and managed to get out of the church, avoiding Mrs Hudson as she tried to hug him, in time to see a car he recognised as Mycroft’s disappearing around the corner and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh I'm sorry. BUT HAPPY ENDINGS WILL COME SOON. promise.
> 
> thank you for the comments and kudos! the next (and last) chapter will be up by Monday at the latest! hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> I LOVE COMMENTS BTW PLZ


	3. Chapter 3

It was almost a week later when John got the first clue about where Sherlock might be.

  He’d looked for his best friend for days – searching Mycroft’s house when he wasn’t there and then insisting that Lestrade call Mycroft but that didn’t lead to enough; he’d even interrogated poor Molly, and Mike, and he’d even sent Mary a tentative **have u seen sherlock lately??** but she didn’t reply and he didn’t push her.

  Then a postcard had come through the mail. The front had a picture of a beach and the back had a generic _wish you were here!_ but it was signed by _S.H._ It had come from Cornwall.

 

Cornwall. John’s first solid lead. He called Mycroft to no avail, and then Sherlock’s parents. They didn’t sound so happy to hear from him.

  “Myc told us what happened,” his mother said and John sighed.

 

  “Mycroft has no idea what happened.”

 

  “My boy bared his heart and soul to you and you…you didn’t even have the decency to…I am very cross, John Watson.”

 

  “Mrs Holmes,” John said, a little stunned. “I’m in love with your son.” He took the silence on the other end of the phone as an invitation to continue. “I think I have been for a while. I just didn’t realise it. Didn’t think that Sherlock would feel the same way. I am so sorry if I hurt him but he didn’t…Sherlock, as always, acted rashly and left before I could tell him. Tell him that I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

 

  “Oh dear! John, I am very sorry. Sherlock’s at our cottage in Cornwall. He said he would need a break after your wedding so he decided to go early after he thought you…oh, John, dear, you might become my son-in-law! I can plan a wedding! I could be a grandmother!”

 

  John thought about marrying Sherlock. About Christmases with the Holmes’ – his in laws. About adopting and raising a child with him. A little girl, with Sherlock’s curls. His heart leapt. He needed to get to Sherlock as soon as he could.

  “Send me the address,” he told her. “And tell him that I’m on my way.”

 

 

 

A few hours later, John stood, exhausted and longing for a warm cup of tea and some biscuits, in front of a beach-front cottage. He knocked twice on the door and it was opened immediately. Sherlock stood there, wearing a dressing gown wrapped around him. He looked too skinny for John’s liking – he had some ideas about taking him out for dinner, a date – and he needed to shave. He also looked nervous, biting his lip.

 

 “Mother told me to expect you.”

 

  “I need you to come home.”

 

  “I like it here.”

 

  “I know you. Give it another week and you’ll be bored.”

  Sherlock almost smiled then he remembered. “Why are you here, John?”

 

  John thought about making some big elaborate speech but that wasn’t really his style. He’d been thinking about what to say the whole train ride over and he still hadn’t thought of a way to tell Sherlock how much he loved him. It was indescribable. John loved Sherlock. The planets orbited the sun. The world as they knew it would eventually end and John would still love Sherlock, even when they were centuries-old dust in the ground.

 

  “I want to marry you,” he said.

 

  “Are you proposing?”

 

  “No, not right now.” John breathed out slowly. “I mean, in the future. I want to marry you sometime. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you. Shit, I’ve said it all backwards. I should have started with telling you that I love you and then…” He shook his head. “Sherlock, I love you. I’m in love with you. I always will be. You are _so_ important to me. You are everything. My best friend. I want to be with you for as long as we can be together, and then longer.”

 

  Sherlock blinked at him. He still looked afraid, like John was going to take it all back.

  “You have my heart, John. You know that you do,” he said softly. “Always.”

 

  “I don’t know what to do with your heart, Sherlock. I don’t want to…I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

  “Like I hurt you.”

 

  “People who love each other hurt each other.” John reached out and touched Sherlock’s cheek. “I was confused at the church and I’m not that smart. Not like you. You’d just told me that…and I…I don’t know…I love you,” he added like that would fix everything. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that he would but Sherlock looked pretty forgiving anyway. And just pretty. His eyes sparkled.

 

  “We’re not allowed to kiss here,” he said.

 

  “Excuse me?”

 

  “London. We can’t kiss here. We have to kiss in Baker Street.”

 

  “Sherlock…”

 

  “Please, just humour me.” Sherlock clasped John’s hand. “Then you can kiss me wherever you like, whenever you like. Promise.”

 

 

 

John had never been so happy to see their flat. He shut the front door behind them, ignoring Mrs Hudson’s delighted shrieks as they walked in holding hands. Sherlock grinned at him, almost child-like in his excitement.

 

  “This is where I fell in love with you,” he whispered. “221B Baker Street.”

 

  John remembered breakfast together and laughter and endless days of solving cases and listening to people in their chairs. He could imagine so many more. He could imagine proposing to Sherlock in the kitchen, ring under Sherlock’s microscope, and their child’s first steps in the living room and Christmas parties with their friends for so many more years. No more forgettable girlfriends, jealous of John’s best friend. No more moping and pining and sadness and jealousy.

  Just them.

 

  “Can I kiss you yet? I’ve been waiting a week to do this.”

 

  Sherlock laughed, throwing his head back, and John swore that he could see the constellations under his skin, lighting him up from the inside. He was _beautiful_. Incredible. Extraordinary.

  John kissed him and Sherlock stopped laughing and started kissing him back. Hands under coats and on Sherlock’s back, pulling him closer, and John would have happily spent another few hours kissing Sherlock if he hadn’t started smiling. His smile was apparently infectious because Sherlock smiled, too, breaking the kiss.

 

  “John Watson,” Sherlock said. “John Holmes?”

 

  “Sherlock Watson.”

 

  “Good enough for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL FOR READING!!
> 
> comments are appreciated! as are prompts, requests and suggestions for fanfics!!
> 
> xxx


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